The Conqueror (Hot Knights) (10 page)

Beornwold’s lip curled. “I told Godric we had already lost you to the Norman. Tell me,” he said, his voice thick with contempt, “does he pleasure you well? Do you scream with passion as he mounts you?”

Edeva reached out and slapped her brother, then sucked in her breath in shock at what she had done.

To her surprise, Beornwold did not retaliate, but merely shook his head and turned away.

As he disappeared into the forest, Edeva’s vision blurred with tears. Her brothers wanted her to betray the Norman, to bring about his death. She could not do it. Every fiber of her being screamed that it was wrong. But how could she prevent it? How could she keep her brothers’ plan from coming to pass?

She could tell the Norman, warn him of what was to happen. He might decide the feast was too risky and call it off. ’Twould be the best thing. The villagers would be disappointed. The meat would rot. But that was better than the bloodshed that would take place if she said nothing.

Edeva took a deep breath and began walking. Back through the forest, where the beech trees shone smooth and bare and ochre-colored leaves clung to the broad boughs of the oaks. Where the ground beneath her feet crunched with fallen leaves and nuts.

She passed the hedgerow, bare now also, except for the gleaming red berries on the hawthorn branches. Past the mill, from where she could see the river, foaming white as it swirled around the rocks.

She walked up the trackway and through the open gate. As she looked around for the Norman, a woman’s voice called her name.

Edeva whirled and met Golde’s mocking gaze. “Milady, you have returned at last,” the woman said. “What kept you? The Norman remarked to me that you had been gone much longer than necessary to convey his message.”

“Indeed,” Edeva said. “Where is Brevrienne?”

Golde cocked a brow. “I imagine he is still setting his clothes to rights. ’Twas a most satisfying afternoon.”

Edeva’s hands clenched into fists. She wanted to strike Golde in the nose and ruin her provocative allure. Only the thought that the Norman might think her actions crude and unfeminine helped her restrain her rage.

She turned away, intending to leave Golde and her taunts behind. But she could not help listening as the wench called out in a husky voice, “Afterwards, I had the most entertaining conversation with Jobert. He told me all about the Norman woman he intends to wed. Her name is Damaris. Damaris de Valois. Her father is vastly wealthy, but that is not the main appeal. It seems our Norman lord prefers his women dainty and elegant. A pity, poor Edeva, that you are so large and awkward!”

Edeva whirled, no longer able to control her fury. But Golde had run off, laughing.

Edeva kicked the ground furiously. Jobert. The Norman’s name was Jobert. She had known him three sennights, had shared his bed, and not learned his given name.

She wanted to kill him. To single-handedly bring about his death. But she could do better than that. She could ruin all hope of his reigning as lord of Oxbury.

She would have to think of a way to get the women and children out of the hall before the attack came. That was not an insurmountable problem. The servants and workmen posed more difficulty. She could not completely prevent them being caught in the conflict between the Normans and her brothers.

But as Beornwold had reminded her, this was war, and men inevitably died. Once her brothers and their warriors entered the hall, the sokemen would be able to choose which side they wished to support. She would not rob freemen of the chance to decide their destiny.

As she had decided hers. The Norman might be a just and generous lord, but he was still a usurper. He did not belong here, had no right to Oxbury. She must help her brothers rid her home of the cursed Normans.

* * *

“I don’t like it,” Alan said as he and Jobert stood on the ramparts above the gate and watched the Saxons file in.

“I know your thoughts well,” Jobert answered, “but it is too late to rescind my invitation. I have said we will feast, and so we shall.”

“No doubt half of the scheming devils have knives hidden in their belts or daggers in their boots.”

“Then they will have to surrender their weapons.” Jobert nodded toward the guards who were searching each person as they came through the gate. A plump, older woman stood in the entryway. As the soldier motioned for her to lift her skirts, she made an outraged noise like a hissing goose.

Jobert looked away. The Saxons could not think him such a fool as to allow them to enter armed.

“You cannot take their eating knives,” Alan reminded him. “And iron utensils might be used to cut throats as well as meat.”

“Have you so little faith in our men? Do you really believe we could be overpowered by a group of peasants brandishing puny blades?”

“Nevertheless, I do not like this,” Alan grumbled. “Look to the woman, Jobert. Why is she so edgy and restless? When you asked her when the food would be ready, she snapped at you as if you were an impertinent page.”

“You know how women are, always fretting over little things. ’Tis no doubt the only feast she has ever hosted, and she seeks to make everything perfect.”

Alan snorted. “Your lust for the wench makes you blind. Can you not see how she keeps looking around? I’ve caught her glancing toward the gate every time she is in the yard. ’Tis as if she expects something to happen.”

“Mayhaps she wishes to see how many of her countrymen have come.”

“Nay, I wager she wishes to see if the rebels from the forest have readied their attack. Mark my words, disaster is brewing. You’ll soon come to find that your magnanimous gesture is wasted on these conniving Saxons.” Alan made a disgusted sound and left the tower.

As if to demonstrate the truth of his words, Edeva came into the yard and immediately looked toward the gate. The expression on her face could only be described as anxious. Jobert stroked his jaw and considered his captain’s warning.

After a moment, he climbed down and approached her. “I never realized so many people dwelled in the valley,” he told her.

“Yea, and I am surprised they are so eager to come,” she answered, her voice tinged with bitterness. “I would think they might fear you would lure them here for a lavish meal and then slaughter them.”

“Why would I do that? Without them, I have not the men to tend the fields come spring. They are my people now. I’d be a fool to destroy my own property.”

“Property!” she spat. “That is all we are to you!”

Jobert looked at her, startled by her vehemence. He’d thought that Edeva had begun to develop some fondness for him, some acceptance of her lot. Mayhaps Alan was right, and she only pretended compliance. She might still hate him and plot his death behind his back.

A chill moved down his spine as he looked toward the gate. A stooped older man came hobbling into the palisade, supported on either side by two children. Jobert suddenly imagined the man’s twisted limbs straightening, the stick he leaned upon transformed into a sword. A sword aimed at his heart.

He shook off the image. His men were not fools. They would not fail to search every Saxon, even if they be old or infirm. The rebels might enter the manor, but they would have no weapons to fight with.

Unless they knew of a secret cache inside. He recalled how Edeva had procured two daggers while locked in the bedchamber. There might be other weapon stores. She could lead the rebels to them, even as she had led him to the treasure in the chapel.

“Edeva,” he said, “you’ve done enough to prepare for the feast. You must join me at the high table in the hall.”

She frowned at him. “But who will see to the serving of the meal?”

“The kitchen women can manage the rest.” He took her arm firmly and began to propel her toward the manor house. “Go now and dress yourself for the meal. I saw many fine garments in the coffer upstairs. Choose one and put it on. And wear a veil or coif over your hair. I would have you look the part of a lady this day.”

* * *

Edeva made her way downstairs wearing an amber-hued gunna decorated with gold embroidery. A hammered gold belt of her mother’s girded her waist and a circlet set with topaz stones secured the filmy veil over her hair. She felt elegant and queenly, but as she reminded herself, she had no time for vanity. The fate of Oxbury would be decided today.

She had gone over her dilemma a hundred times, trying to decide a course of action. As soon as her jealous anger had passed, she’d realized she did not truly want to see the Norman killed, his magnificent body ruined, his proud nature humbled. Vengeance was not a good reason to support her brothers’ plan.

But, having made that discovery, her predicament grew even more difficult. She’d waited too long to warn the Norman of the rebels’ scheme. He would not cancel the feast now, even if he knew there might be treachery afoot. Instead, if she alerted him to the danger, he would set a trap for her brothers and they would die.

Either way, there would be suffering, and she would be responsible.

Her only option was to prevent the confrontation from taking place. As soon as she saw one of her brothers, she must convince him that the Norman knew of their plans and that it would be too dangerous to carry them out.

But she’d lost precious time dressing, and she feared most of the rebels were already inside the palisade, hiding until the attack came.

As soon as she reached the hall, Edeva pushed past the crowded rows of trestle tables, fast filling up with villagers, and out the door.

Thankfully, the Norman was not in sight as she made a beeline for the gate.

She nodded to Osbert and Payne, the two guards searching the villagers as they entered. “I’m looking for the miller,” she told them. “I have something to discuss with his wife. Have you seen either of them?”

Osbert gestured toward the hall. “I think they have already gone inside.”

Edeva nodded, deflated. She had not thought the miller would come, and had planned to linger by the gate on the pretense of waiting for him. Now she had no excuse to stay and keep watch for her brothers.

She walked off slowly, trying to think of a new scheme. A faint whistle made her turn, and she saw one of her father’s house ceorls gesturing to her from the shadows near the palisade.

She looked around furtively, and then approached the warrior. He held himself bent over, as if he were an older man, and had dirt smeared on his face to help hide his youthful features.

“What do you here, Edeva?” Ernwin asked. “Do you mean to aid us or betray us?”

Edeva shook her head. “Neither. I want you to tell Beornwold that he must give up his plan. The Norman knows something is afoot, and he is prepared. ’Twould be suicide to attack.”

Ernwin smiled grimly. “Our plans have changed. Beornwold said you would betray us, so he thought of another scheme.”

Hot anger swept through Edeva. “I did not betray you. I sought to prevent your deaths! ’Tis too risky to attack the Normans, even from inside the fortress. There are too many of them, and they are too well-armed!”

“But we are cleverer,” Ernwin sneered. “We will prevail—despite you.”

The man turned and hobbled away, giving a passable imitation of a decrepit old man. Edeva watched him leave, her stomach churning. There would be bloodshed, and there was naught she could do to prevent it. If she warned the Norman what was to take place, he would search the palisade for the rebels and kill them.

She walked slowly back to the hall, feeling nearly ill with anxiety and dread. As she reached the doorway, she felt a hand on her arm. Turning, she met the Norman’s enigmatic green gaze.

“There you are, Lady Edeva. Come sit beside me at the lord’s table. The feast is about to begin.”

A
dozen eyes focused upon her as Edeva walked into the hall, and she heard the scraping of benches as the Saxons rose to their feet. Tears filled her eyes as she realized they honored her as the lady of Oxbury. She straightened, remembering how her mother Alegefru always moved with a flowing grace. A sense of poise and calm had surrounded her mother, touching everyone who saw her. If only she could measure up.

The miller’s wife bobbed a curtsy as Edeva passed. Edeva inclined her head and tried to smile back.

She reached the lord’s table. The memory of her mother and father sitting there increased her turmoil.

The Norman helped her sit down in one of the high-backed, ornately carved chairs, then took his place beside her.

Edeva darted a glance his way. She could not guess his mood, and the awful thought came to her that he might have seen her talking to Ernwin. When the rebels showed themselves, would he think she had been part of their plot?

She cast an uneasy glance at the man seated on her right. Alan of Fornay. Unlike her gentle watchdog, Rob, this Norman knight felt no warmth toward her. In fact, she suspected he hated her.

Certainly he did not trust her. When the attack came, he would be the first to blame her for helping the rebels.

“Lady Edeva, you look exquisite.”

Edeva froze at Brevrienne’s compliment, and then took a nervous swallow from the ornate goblet in front of her. It was filled with ale rather than wine. She looked questioningly toward the Norman.

He shrugged. “I believe we should learn to drink what your people do. Although my men will grumble, for certes.”

She glanced out into the hall. Tension seemed to crackle in the air like lightning before a thunderstorm. The Saxons sat at the tables, looking wary and uneasy. The Normans stood around the edges of the room, more like guards than revelers at a banquet.

She took a deep breath. With no wine, the Normans would not get drunk nor let down their vigilance. Her brothers’ plan would be less likely to succeed.

Was that what she wanted, to see her brothers and countrymen lying dead in the mud?

Of course not, and yet, and yet... She did not want the Norman to die, either.

Would he ever believe that, she wondered. Or, had he already marked her as a traitor? If the Saxon assault failed, what would become of her? If he believed she had betrayed him, surely the Norman would kill her.

She shivered. Immediately, she felt the Norman’s hand on her shoulder. “Art cold, Edeva?”

She shook her head.

His hand smoothed her hair against her back. “’Tis pleased I am that you wore you hair down. Your golden tresses bewitch me.”

Edeva struggled not to draw away. She’d worn her hair unbraided because she’d not had time to arrange it otherwise. So intent was she on getting down into the yard and warning the rebels, she’d given little thought to her appearance.

But her unbound hair was a lie. It proclaimed her virgin status, which she was no longer.

She was a Jezebel, a Delilah. A traitorous harlot who slept with a man, then brought about his ruin.

To distract herself from her depressing thoughts, she glanced out at the crowd. The Saxons’ tension seemed to be easing. Mayhaps they were pleased by the deference the Norman had shown her. After all, they wanted her to wed with him!

The Norman’s squire brought a platter of steaming beef and put a thick slice on the trencher in front of Edeva, then ladled glistening rich broth over it. She stared at the food, wondering how she would ever force a mouthful down.

The rest of the hall was also being served. More beef, carried on an enormous board it took two men to carry. Baskets of bread. Pots of vegetable pottage for every table.

Edeva watched the stunned, eager looks on the faces of the villagers. Their stomachs rejoiced at the sight of the bounty before them. For this alone, they would willingly serve the Norman.

The arrival of the food seemed to break the spell that bound the hall. The knights abandoned their posts around the room and sat down at the tables. The Saxons began to talk among themselves. A baby cried. Someone made a jest and others laughed. The mood lightened.

The Norman leader rose. The sound of his chair grating against the dais echoed loudly in Edeva’s ear. “A toast,” he said, raising his goblet.

The hall fell silent, staring at the man who towered over them, like a giant from one of the ancient stories, a huge, long-limbed Goliath with gleaming hair and a fierce green gaze. “A toast,” he said, “to peace and prosperity for Oxbury.”

His men grabbed cups and raised them. Slowly, the Saxons did likewise.

Edeva felt the Norman’s strength and power reaching out and compelling her people to obey. There was something about this man. ’Twas hard to look at him and not do his will.

“To Oxbury,” he said, and then surprised them all by speaking in halting Saxon, “peace and prosperity for her people.”

A faint gasp swept the room: The Saxons turned and whispered among themselves, amazed that their conqueror had seen fit to learn a few words of their language. Several of them looked to Edeva, and she recalled the times the Norman had asked her to give him Saxon words for Norman ones. She had complied, thinking his questions rose from his frustration at not being able to communicate directly with the servants and workmen. That he remembered the phrases she gave him astounded her.

He spoke again, raising his goblet in her direction. “To Lady Edeva.”

The people in the hall again held up their cups, and the thought shafted through her like an arrow:
He seeks to be generous. And I have repaid him with treachery.

Jobert speared a piece of fat-laced meat with his eating knife, then flicked it into the open, slobbering mouth of the brindle hound waiting patiently beneath his chair. Even as he performed the movement, his gaze drifted toward the woman beside him.

Like a queen she was, magnificent in a deep golden gown that set off her hair. Every detail of her appearance affected him. The creamy smoothness of her skin made his own flesh ache. The plump softness of her mouth caused his lips to tingle with wanting. The voluptuous curve of her breasts beneath the elegant gown made his whole body thrum with longing. He was uncomfortably, wretchedly aroused.

He looked away, taking a deep breath. Hard to imagine he had once mistaken her for a man. His wits must have been addled, his vision distorted by his anger over the ambush in the forest. She was the enemy then, so his mind had made her into a man.

But she looked like no warrior now. Every inch of her exuded femininity and womanliness. She was beyond beautiful. Enticing, erotic, a dream come true.

Which made him more wary of her than ever. Was Alan right, did she use her beauty to lure him to his doom?

He tossed a treat to another dog crouched nearby, and then resumed watching his tablemate. She kept her face trained upon the trencher in front of her. Did she seek to behave as she thought a demure and proper lady should, or was she hiding something?

Alan’s warning words echoed again in his mind, and Jobert turned his gaze to the crowded hall. He saw a people intent on gorging themselves, eating enough beef, bread, cabbage and peas to see them through the long, lean winter. But ’twas a smaller number than he expected. Where were the rest of the Saxons he’d seen entering the palisade?

Uneasy, he inspected his men, making certain they were not succumbing to revelry and drunkenness.

The lack of wine had aided him. Although the Saxons, from children to the aged, drank ale freely from rough pottery beakers, most of his men appeared remarkably sober. They did not favor the bitter taste of the Saxon beverage.

Jobert allowed himself to relax a notch. He should be celebrating. Here he was, lord in his own hall, with a beautiful lady beside him.

He jerked upright as there was a commotion in the back of the room. His hand flew to his sword.

Standing, he saw two men facing off. Around them, voices rose in a babble of Saxon and French.

Jobert left the dais and pushed his way through the crowd to the source of the dispute. One of the Saxons, his eating knife flashing, yelled belligerently at a knight named Jocelyn. The Norman had not drawn his sword, but his hand rested on the pommel and his face was twisted into a contemptuous smirk.

“What goes on here?” Jobert demanded.

The room immediately went silent, but no one answered. He glared at his men. “Will no one speak?”

“Milord,” Giles stepped forward, “it appears that Sir Jocelyn said something the miller took exception to. Although how he knew what was said remains a mystery.” Jobert jerked the Saxon around and beheld the man who had defied him during the first days at Oxbury. “So,” he said, “mayhaps the miller understands Norman French after all.”

From beside Jobert, Alan spoke. “I warned you that he was a crafty devil.”

Jobert set his jaw. He would have to punish the man. ’Twould spoil the spirit of the feast, but it could not be helped.

Feeling half-guilty about what he intended to do, he looked toward the dais. Edeva’s place was empty.

He glanced around the hall but failed to locate her. A sudden uneasiness went through him. Before he could ask if anyone had seen Lady Edeva, a knight burst into the hall, yelling, “Fire! The kitchen is on fire!”

* * *

“The kitchen!” Edeva whispered furiously. “How could you torch the kitchen?”

“Shut up, Edeva,” Beornwold hissed back. “We needed a distraction. Kitchens can be rebuilt, so what does it matter?”

They stood in the shadows of the granary within sight of the blazing building. Around them gathered the Saxon forces, two dozen ragged, determined men armed with staves, rusted knives and short swords they had dug up from an old cache of Leowine’s.

Looking at them, Edeva felt like weeping with despair. There was no hope they could defeat the well-equipped Normans. None at all. Even with the distraction of the fire.

Which fueled her anger all the more. ’Twould not be easy to replace the kitchen, the pots and spits, the big stone oven and cutting boards, the utensils and serving ware. All of it, destroyed for naught.

“You might as well all go back to the forest,” she said. “There is no way you can win.”

“Don’t listen to her.” Beornwold stepped in front of Edeva. “For all we know, a Norman bastard already grows in her belly. And what does she know of warfare? She cannot tell us we are beaten. I say we are not beaten until we try!” His arm swung up in a triumphant gesture.

Edeva tried to push her way in front of Beornwold and talk reason to her countrymen. Strong hands gripped her from behind and a familiar voice coaxed in her ear, “Edeva, we need you. Go now and find the Norman leader. Once he’s dead, I doubt his men will fight so furiously. All you have to do is bring him to us.”

She turned to face Godric. “Where’s Alnoth?” she asked. “Is he well?”

“We did not bring him. In fact, several of the younger men stayed away. I thought it would be better so. In case we do not succeed.”

Edeva closed her eyes. If she failed to convince them of the futility of her plan, Saxon blood would run red on the ground of the manor yard. Somehow she must prevent that. “I’ll do what you ask,” she told Godric.

“Good girl,” he whispered.

The yard was a vision of tumult and disorder. The fire had spread to one of the outbuildings, and knights and servants ran here and there, carrying buckets of water from the well and the cisterns. They worked furiously, trying to keep the blaze from spreading further. The vivid glow of the flames eerily illuminated the faces around Edeva. She searched them, seeking the Norman. From what she knew of him, he should be in the thick of things, shouting, cajoling, and urging the others on.

She approached the remains of the kitchen shed. The supporting timbers glowed orange against the evening sky, but the rest of the building had collapsed to ashes. Nearby, exhausted servants and soldiers caught their breath. Edeva spied Beornflaed the cook and grasped her arm. “Thank God you were not caught in the blaze!”

Beornflaed shook her head sorrowfully. Her face was smudged with soot, her blue eyes haunted in a dusky mask. “I was fortunate. Edwina and Wulfget did not fare so well.”

“Wulfget!” Edeva gasped.

Beornflaed nodded. “Poor thing, she breathed too much smoke and collapsed. And Edwina was burned trying to retrieve the big cooking pot. The Norman and one of his men carried them both into the hall.”

“I must go to them,” Edeva said.

Inside the hall, frightened villagers lined the long room, their faces stark with dread. The miller’s wife clutched at Edeva’s sleeve as she passed. “What will happen to us?”

“Nothing,” Edeva answered. “The fire is under control. As soon as the danger is passed, you will all go home.”

“You’re certain?” The woman’s eyes were pleading. “You don’t fear they will lock us inside here and burn the hall down?”

“Of course not.” Edeva tried to push past her. This time it was the miller himself who halted Edeva’s progress. “The soldiers won’t let me leave the hall. I fear the worst!”

“This is foolish. Why do you think something is going to happen to you?”

The man’s eyes shone defiantly. “Did you not see when I drew my knife upon one of them?”

“Aye,” Edeva answered. “Why did you do something so witless?”

The miller thrust his jaw out. “In truth, I do not regret it. I could not endure what he said about Azelina. The man is a pig! First he rapes my wife, then he taunts me with crude remarks!”

Edeva sighed. She did not want to be drawn into this. She had enough difficulties. “You will likely be punished for causing a disturbance during the feast,” she told him, “but I doubt it will be anything worse than a quick flogging.” She made her voice stern. “’Twas unwise of you to threaten one of the knights. You are fortunate he did not draw his sword and kill you.”

The miller remained mutinous. Edeva looked from the outraged man to his sweetly pretty spouse. “The Normans hold the power of life and death over all of us,” she said. “Do not forget that.”